


Deny

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 08:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: “Armand, Armand, Armand…” Alessandra whispered, a lilting sing song. “Poor Armand.  Are you sad to know that it’s all coming to an end?”“What would that be exactly?”“This.  All of this.  The dark laws are crumbling, the revenant pagans gaining strength.   How amazing, that I see it all.”(Alessandra and Armand discuss Magnus, and the inevitable crumbling of the old ways.  Set not long before Lestat was first made.)





	Deny

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Never in my life have I ever owned anything less than I own them. 
> 
> Notes: I have a fun new game. It's called rescuing those VC stories I wrote in 2008 from my dead, thoroughly friendslocked livejournal account.

“Since when do you tense when I touch you?” Alessandra whispered against Armand’s neck. He could feel her fingernails digging deep into his arms. “Hmm?”

“I don’t," Armand replied. He did not move or wince, not even to block out the cackling laughter that followed.

“I’ve met the devil himself,” Alessandra continued. “We walked through the forest for weeks, discussing the fables of witches and scientists. You’ll never speak to him, Armand. You depress him.”

Armand slipped from her touch, and went to sit on the other side of the room. Her grin stole the smooth beauty from her face, replacing it with something deranged and frantic. 

“There is no devil.” Armand ‘s voice was as soft as hers had been. “Nothing beyond the devils that we create.” 

“Satan!” The word sounded thunderous in the small chamber. Alessandra clapped her hands together as she spoke it. “Satan, our Satan, your Satan, Armand – the prince of lies. A prince without a crown, who creeps about with dirt in his mouth and worms in the sockets of his eyes. He’s dead, you know.” 

“You’re rambling.” 

“You should go and speak with Magnus. He is the Prometheus of devils.”

Armand did not answer. 

“Armand, Armand, Armand…” Alessandra whispered in a lilting sing song. "Poor Armand. Are you sad to know that it’s all coming to an end?”

“What would that be exactly?”

“This. All of this. The dark laws are crumbling, the revenant pagans gaining strength. How amazing, that I see it all.”

“Do not think yourself a prophet among blood drinkers. There is no such thing," Armand said mildly. 

“If there is such a thing, I’m it. I’m mad, Armand, finally mad after all these years. It’s only the mad who truly see anything. ”

Armand only shook his head. Alessandra came closer to him, very close. Her smile faded, and suddenly her face was sweet and familiar again.

“I’m mad,” She said, quite seriously. “It’s my time for the flames. You will be mad yourself, someday.” 

Armand stood. He took Alessandra’s shoulders and pushed her against the wall. He could smell the rotting earth around them, and her rotting clothing. For the first time in decades the smell sickened him.

“You’re not mad," he hissed, as Alessandra broke into helpless laughter, “And you are not going into the flames.” 

He let go of her, and she slid to the floor, laughing still. 

“You’re not mad.” Armand whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments encourage me to go through the effort of dredging up more of these old stories, fixing decade old the typos, and dusting them off to see the light of day.


End file.
